A Quiet Place To Stay
by Los Desperados
Summary: Post-RE5. "Are you there, God? It's me, Chris Redfield."


**status **complete**  
prompt **you found me, by _the fray_; _Grey's Anatomy_ Season 6 finale_  
_**warnings** death  
**pairings** implied chris/jill  
**disclaimer** i do not own resident evil

* * *

**A QUIET PLACE TO STAY**

* * *

He couldn't feel anything. All he heard was a gunshot and then, nothing.

It was quite the funny case, he thought. He had survived through the Mansion Incident, the T-virus and the G-virus, Wesker, Uroboros and so many others to die by a single bullet, shot by a junky. A person who had shot him for his money.

Chris would have never imagined that kind of end for him. He thought he would die protecting his loved ones, on the battlefield, fighting against a global threat, protecting the world and falling like a true soldier with ultimate honor. Or perhaps even live until he was very old and die of natural causes, after he had helped in building a new safe world for the next generations.

But _this_, this was not what he had anticipated.

It was just another day, an ordinary day in his life. He had gotten back from a mission in Asia a week ago. Chris had spent some days at the headquarters filling his report and doing paperwork and then went home to rest. Another virus was on the eve of its appearance but, along with some other agents, he had managed to put an end to this once again. Today was the first day he had gotten out of his house after returning home. Walked his way to the groceries store to get some supplies. Yet, before he even reached the store, he found himself covered in blood, _his_blood, and lying in a dark alley, slowly waiting for his death to come.

If he wasn't in such a fucked-up situation, he would have laughed. The person who had shot him shouldn't have been over nineteen years old. Just a scared kid who needed his dose. God knows why Chris didn't give him the money he needed. He could have saved his life. But no, Chris Redfield tried to reason with the kid, try telling him that he could help him out with his problem. And the boy shot him, hands trembling as he pulled the trigger. He took Chris's wallet and mumbled _'I'm sorry'_before running away.

Chris lied on the cold floor, his hand pressed again his wound. The boy had shot him near the heart and the bleeding wasn't stopping. It would only be a matter of minutes before he would be gone for good. He felt tired. And a little sad. Regretting how he never told Jill how much he loved her, or never telling Claire that he actually liked the fact that she had Leon by her side. It was relieving to know he would keep her safe.

He tried to move into a more comfortable position, but groaned when a wave of pain ran through his body. It wasn't only the wound next to his heart. The exhaustion from all these years he had been fighting non-stop came out, adding to his fatigue.

He found himself wondering if he had achieved anything in all these years of battle. He had failed to save Jill, who was now in a bad mental condition, having constant nightmares hunting her all the time. He had failed to help his friends, most of who had died on the battlefield. He had failed in being the hero everyone needed. He was a failure with nothing left to prove.

But he thought about the things he _did_achieve in his life. He had found Jill, prevented many viral outbreaks, saved people, destroyed Umbrella and Tricell, put Wesker out of the way and, perhaps, helped in making this world a little better for the next generations. Maybe he had contributed in clearing the sky of the future and letting the sun peek out from behind the dark clouds of terrorism, creating a brighter future. Maybe he wasn't a complete failure, after all.

Dark green eyes looked up at the grey clouds and he felt droplets of rain fall on his face. He remembered how every time he lost partners, co-workers, friends, it rained. _When a soldier dies, the heavens cry,_he had said. And now the skies were crying for him.

He wondered if God would take him into paradise. Chris had never gone to church. He drank. He smoked. He cursed a lot. And he has killed people. Many people. Would God accept him? Did God made exceptions for those who killed people in order to protect others? Did God pick out those who killed terrorists who threatened the world, from murderers who killed for money? Chris got paid to do his job. Was he getting paid to kill people? Was he any different than those who killed in cold blood?

He didn't know. Nor did he have time to find out.

The sounds were getting more distant with each passing moment. Chris felt his head lighter as time passed. The end was close. In the end, he figured out that he didn't know anything at all. He didn't know why he had killed all those people, he didn't know why he had never confessed his feelings to Jill, he didn't know what he fought for…

When death was around the corner, Chris found himself wondering where he'd want to spend his last moments on earth. With Jill, perhaps? Laying his head on her lap while confessing to her everything he felt? He closed his eyes and smiled weakly. _Nah._ He wouldn't want to be anywhere else at the moment but here, in this dark alley, on the corner of First and Amistad, dying silently, with his thoughts to keep him company. So what if he didn't fall like a proud soldier on the battlefield? What if his body would stay in that alley and be mauled by rats or dogs? His soul was free. Free to finally rest after a long and tiring journey.

All he could hear now was horns of cars and the drops of rain falling on the street in a far distance.

Nobody cared to glance towards the alley.

Nobody glanced towards the crying skies.

Nobody cared for the fallen soldier.

_Nobody._

Not even God.


End file.
